


Words (from mouth such as yours)

by kuriositet



Series: Free To Love [4]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M, Swords & Fencing, that tag will have to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriositet/pseuds/kuriositet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crispus sometimes finds it hard to focus during training.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words (from mouth such as yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another drabble, requested by anon.  
> Castus/Crispus, fight me, with Castus teaching Crispus with the sword in Free To Love.
> 
> Much gratitude to Yasmin for looking it over for me <3

Crispus loves the sound of clashing swords. Of steel hitting steel again and again, in new ways, in new angles, with new power. He watches Nasir fight with an elegance almost no others in the rebel army possess while training a tiny woman Crispus knows as Zenais, who makes up for her lack of physical strength with incredible technique. It is like a dance, one with deadly purpose, and Crispus still dreams of mastering it.

“Do not forget your feet,” Agron calls out. “Or your balance.” As predicted, Zenais loses her balance after parrying Nasir’s blows by stepping backwards one too many times. 

“You need to hold your ground, and keep your weight centered,” Nasir tells her, and Crispus takes note as well, hoping to make use of the advice. 

“Castus, Crispus, take position,” Agron shouts, and Crispus takes the sword from Zenais, who gives him a warm smile. “And Castus, do not hold back this time.”

“Yes Castus, do not hold back this time,” Crispus repeats, and Castus looks a little sheepish for about half a second before regaining himself and plastering a smirk on his face.

“As you command.”

“Begin!”

Castus spins the sword in his hand, never taking his eyes off of Crispus, who cannot fight the urge to roll his eyes. Castus sees this of course, and launches attack so fast Crispus barely has time to move out of the way. He steps to the side though, swords clashing and sliding against each other, until Castus makes an unexpected turn and knocks Crispus in the back with the flat of his sword.

Dead, he thinks.

“You need to focus,” Castus says. “Never take your eyes off your opponent. Not just their sword, but their whole body. The way they carry themselves may give away their school of training, the angle of their shoulders or the space between their feet may give away their next move, giving you opportunity to take them down before they strike.”

“I know that.”

“Then show us.” Their eyes meet and Crispus is almost surprised that Castus does not appear annoyed or exasperated by his lack of focus. His eyes are encouraging and warm, and Crispus could lose himself in them, if allowed. He nods, and Castus attacks again.

He fares much better this time, paying all the attention he can afford to study Castus’s every movement. Castus does fight much differently than everyone else Crispus can think of in the rebel army. He is not trained in the ways of gladiators like Nasir, or the mix of that and the Germanic ways like Agron. No, Castus fights as a pirate would, and he fights with a passion. He appears impossible to bring down. Crispus presses again and again but Castus always regains control.

In the end, Crispus gets tired and his movements slow and sloppy, allowing Castus to knock the sword out of his hand. Castus pulls him close by his hand and folds the arm against his back as he places his own blade against Crispus’s throat. “Your life, in my hands,” he says, mouth close to Crispus’s ear. “I could do anything to you.”

“You could,” Crispus agrees, but the moment Castus eases his grip and lowers his weapon, Crispus tugs his arm loose and hits him in the face before diving after his lost sword on the ground. There is a loud cheer from the side, and Crispus looks over to see Agron laughing.

“That is enough. Well fought, Crispus,” Agron says, grinning in approval. “Lugo, Erastos, take position.” Crispus passes his sword to the Greek then stands to the side to watch. Castus joins him shortly, offering a cup of water.

“Gratitude,” Crispus says, then “Apologies,” when he sees the blood under Castus’s nose.

“None required.” He smiles, and only then does Crispus believe things are good between them. “You afforded yourself well.”

“Not as well as you. It is no easy task to knock you off your feet.”

Castus laughs. “I learned to fight aboard a ship rocked by crashing waves. Unmoving ground proves no challenge.” Crispus smiles, imagining it; a much younger man, face edged with less lines and not so weathered by heavy wind and rain upon sea.

“Do you miss it?” he asks. “The sea?”

“There are moments, yes, when I miss my brothers and remember the things and the places and the people I have seen,” Castus admits. “Yet I once spoke of how words from the right man could make me turn from it.” Castus stares intently at something and Crispus turns to follow his line of sight to Nasir. 

“And if you could return to it?”

“Would that the gods offered eternal life upon sea,” Castus starts, and Crispus feels his face fall. “I would yet spend remaining days in your arms.”

Crispus smiles and, despite his cheeks heating up, he says, “As I would have you.”


End file.
